


Harry Potter and the Time of Second Chances

by PercyOliver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Marauders, Time Travel, sixth year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PercyOliver/pseuds/PercyOliver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and the gang return for their 6th year, but of course, things are amiss. A transfer student from Durmstrang, a new defence professor with a curious surname, the sorting hat's shocking new song, and more to the old prophecy. While Harry receives more than he'd bargained for, he also finally gets a second chance at the life he'd always dreamt of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Different Dudley, New Nightmare

**Chapter 1: Different Dudley, New Nightmare**

 A shrill scream from the kitchen of Four Privet Drive was the first sound to meet Harry Potter’s ears on his first day of summer holidays. Harry had intended to lie-in his first morning back from school, but instead, the high-pitched screech of his horse-faced Aunt Petunia jarred him from his dreams.

 He opened his sleep-heavy eyes and looked about the room to see what could possibly have been the matter. Harry fumbled across his bed and grabbed his thin-framed glasses from the bedside table then started scanning the room to see what he might have done to offend Aunt Petunia. Then again, the Dursleys rarely needed a reason to find him offensive.

 His search was abruptly cut off by another shout, this time low and growling.

 ‘Get down here boy!’ Uncle Vernon’s voice rushed up the stairs. Harry’s eyes darted around the room one last time and landed on Hedwig’s open golden cage.

 ‘Oh no,’ he muttered to himself as he grabbed a pair of jogging bottoms and ran down the stairs to try and save his owl from whatever torment the Dursley’s had surely made her suffer. He ran down the stairs jumping three at a time, ignoring the squeaking banister and forgetting to duck at the end of the staircase. WHACK!

 Harry fell backwards and landed hard on his shoulder. He looked up from the unforgiving hallway floor to see his uncle’s robust form waddling -as that was really the best way to describe Vernon's movements - as quickly as it could toward him.

 ‘Get up off the floor you lazy ingrate!’ Vernon grunted, voice filled with the usual disgust reserved for Harry.

 ‘I fell down!’ Harry spat as he held the growing welt on his forehead.

 ‘What are you holding your head for? Worried what’s left in there might spill out?’ Vernon laughed an unusually high laugh at his own joke.

 Harry, used to his uncle’s constant jibes about his intelligence, normally would not have given him the satisfaction of a reaction. Though this morning, he had been rudely awakened, and bashed his head on the plaster above the stairs; not exactly incentive to think straight.

 ‘No, I’m trying to cover my eyes so that your face isn’t the first thing I have to see in the morning.’ Harry regretted this the moment it came out of his mouth. Vernon’s fat purple face darkened and he lunged forward, grabbing Harry’s ear between his sausage-like fingers.

 ‘Now you listen to me boy. Your ruddy kind might allow that sort of ungrateful talk, but in this house you will respect those who have taken you in off the street. Do I make myself clear?’ Vernon growled in Harry’s face so closely that spittle rained down onto his cheeks. Wanting to escape his uncle’s sweaty clutch and putrid breath, Harry nodded quickly and pulled himself free, wiping his face. After a final glare, Harry strode into the kitchen trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his forehead and looking around for his pet owl.

 He immediately spotted her perched on the butter dish in the center of the dinner table, nibbling bacon off of Aunt Petunia’s breakfast plate. His aunt looked on in disgust and horror from behind the kitchen island, while Dudley held his ground at the table, stuffing as much food into his mouth as he could. Had the situation not been so dire, Harry might have laughed.

 ‘Look at what your filthy creature has done!’ Petunia shrieked through pronounced teeth. She cringed as the owl dipped its head down for another strip of bacon.

 Vernon hobbled into the room and stood behind Petunia, his face fat and blotchy. ‘If you don’t get that beast out of our kitchen this instant, I will lock it in its cage forever!’ he threatened, pulling out a padlock for effect.

 Harry rushed forward, intending to grab Hedwig and bring her to safety, but stubbed his foot and stumbled forward. Dudley, thinking that Harry was about to nick something from his plate, took a swing at him. Hedwig jumped across the table knocking all the trays of breakfast around the floor, and finally spread her wings, setting off over Petunia’s head and out the opened kitchen window.

 ‘It tried to attack me!’ Petunia shrieked, wide-eyed and terrified. ‘Did you see it Vernon, it nearly pecked out my eyes,’ she sobbed into his chest.

 Vernon looked up at his nephew and the look in his eyes told Harry that, whatever it was he was planning, it wouldn’t be good. ‘Boy, go and get your school things from your room and bring them down here this instant!’ he ground out in a tone as though daring Harry to challenge him.

 Harry walked up the creaking stairs and entered the first door on the right of the corridor. His small, dark room held little furniture and contained even less personal belongings as he only received gifts from his friends during the school year or on his birthday. Besides, the few treasured items he got from his friends were more or less magical and were not tolerated by the Dursleys. These were kept hidden in his trunk and out of sight.

 A home was meant to reflect the personalities of its inhabitants, and Harry's stark surroundings were evidence that this place had never truly been his home. Harry looked around the room once again quickly, knowing that he wouldn’t find any of his ‘school stuff’ in the open, other than Hedwig’s cage that remained on the top of his lone, shabby bureau. He slumped past his desk and leaned down at the foot of his bed to grab his school trunk, which still laid unpacked from his fifth year at Hogwarts.

 How was he supposed to do his summer assignments if his trunk was locked up again for the summer? Professor Snape would certainly show no mercy.

 ‘Hurry up, boy!’ Vernon shouted up irritably. ‘Don’t make me come up there.’ A hollow threat, Harry knew, but why look for more trouble.

 He hastily opened the top of his trunk and rifled past the books on top to find the most important item inside. He felt his fingers wrap around the slender piece of holly and enjoyed the warm familiarity, then pulled his wand out of the trunk, snapped the top back down, and clicked the buckles closed before rushing over to his bedside. On his knees, Harry pulled up the fourth floorboard from the wall to reveal a tiny hollow containing a minute tin canister. He opened it quickly and placed his wand on top of some old birthday cards he had received from Ron and Hermione. While he could survive without his textbooks and invisibility cloak, Harry knew that he mustn’t risk being defenseless and without a wand. Too many life or death situations presented themselves for him to be found unprotected. Snapping the floorboard back in place, Harry grabbed one of the handles to his trunk and began dragging it forlornly to the top of the staircase.

 By the time he reached the bottom of the staircase with the heavy supplies, Harry’s T-shirt was clinging to his back, and he silently wished he could use a hovering charm. Vernon stood waiting with lock and key outside the cupboard under the stairs; the cupboard in which Harry had spent the first eleven years of his life sleeping and being punished. The thought of the damp, dark space, and the dirty spider infested mattress, made Harry cringe and recall too many nasty memories. Harry watched as Vernon carefully opened the trunk’s latches and slowly lifted the top to peer inside. Petunia had appeared at the doorway and was watching intently as her husband delved into her nephew’s privacy while he was forced to watch in silence.

 Vernon looked up at Harry with a warning glance and asked him about the trunk. ‘You haven’t set anything funny in here have you? Nothing out of the ordinary will happen if I poke around?’ he asked, not taking his eyes off the trunk’s contents.

 ‘Of course not,’ Harry answered reluctantly, wishing now that he had set some Filibuster Fireworks to go off if opened by anyone but him.

 Vernon cautiously reached into the trunk and shoved some of the books around, carefully counting the contents. Harry almost said something when his uncle’s grubby fingers pulled a shiny, silver cloak from the bottom of the trunk. Luckily, he had no clue what it was and discarded it to the side. Just as Uncle Vernon was about to close the lid again, he spotted something that clearly piqued his interest. Putting on a smug expression, he fished out an old pair of his grey wool socks.

 ‘Now isn’t this interesting, Petunia?’ he said holding the socks up for her to see. She turned her nose up at them, offended by the ragged things. ‘I believe we gave these to our dear nephew several years ago at Christmas. Isn’t it touching to see that he holds them so dear as to have kept them in here all these years?’ he gloated with a smirk. Harry looked away, gritting his teeth.

 ‘And he says we never give him anything or treat him right,’ Aunt Petunia added, now also smirking in Harry’s direction.

 ‘I only kept that sad excuse of a gift to muffle the sound of a -’ he started to say, but then stopped abruptly.

 ‘Go on then!’ Vernon prodded Harry painfully in the chest, ‘What is it you’re hiding in here?’ he demanded and poked his fingers into the bundled socks to pull out a minute, spherical device. Harry began to warn him against it, but it was too late. A low humming sound escaped from the contraption as it began to spin wildly in Vernon’s hand, making him instantly drop it and the socks to the floor with a yelp.

 The whirring noise continued to rise in volume and pitch as the small object cart-wheeled across the floor at their feet. Harry had to suppress a laugh at the look on his uncle’s face. The feeling to laugh soon evaporated as Vernon’s bewildered face became blotchier than before and darkened with rage to a shade of puce that would have made a blackberry jealous.

 ‘You said no funny business!’ he roared, spittle raining all over the place.

 ‘I’d forgotten all about it, I swear it,’ Harry explained, scrambling to pick up the tiny defense system and stuff it back into its home.

 ‘What was that confounded contraption?’ Vernon demanded, having calmed down slightly to a proud purple.

 ‘It’s a -’

 ‘ -sneakoscope,’ Petunia interjected, ‘It spins like mad and makes a loud humming noise whenever danger is near.’ At this she shifted her eyes around the room in alarm and looked all around behind her. ‘Are we in danger, boy?’ she asked, ‘Are there Death Eaters nearby, or could it be Riddle himself?’ She shuddered suddenly in fear.

 Harry stood open-mouthed, gaping at his aunt. Had he just heard her correctly, or was he imagining it? The words sneakoscope, Death Eaters and Riddle could not have just come out of her mouth. Where could she have learned about dark Wizard alarms and the cowled minions of the Dark Lord? Last year she had reacted in the same fearful way at the mention of Voldemort, but he didn’t understand why she would be so quick to mention him.

 ‘What did you just say?’ Harry quietly asked his aunt, looking from her searching figure to the wide-eyed, flabbergasted expression on his uncle’s face.

 ‘You heard me boy, now answer me,’ Petunia’s shrill voice cut through the silence as she fixed her wandering glare onto him. ‘Have they come to get you? Is HE here?’ she repeated more urgently this time.

 ‘No, of course not,’ Harry answered his aunt, then watched her figure relax and relief flood her body. ‘You know they can’t get me here,’ he added grudgingly, ‘I’m protected, remember?’

 Vernon remained still, only opening and closing his mouth like a fish, no sound escaping as he stared in shock at his wife.

 ‘Oh, close your mouth Vernon. You heard the boy, we’re safe, no need to worry,’ she stated plainly, snapping almost audibly back to her regular self, and walked out of the room as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred in the hallway of number Four Privet Drive.

 It took Vernon Dursley several minutes to return from his catatonic state, but when he did, it was as though nothing had happened. He slammed the lid to the trunk shut and locked the clasps tightly, ensuring that nothing abnormal would get out. He then opened the cupboard behind him and began ramming the trunk and all of its contents inside. He pushed and shoved with all his might as Harry watched from the doorway with crossed arms. Harry started to smile as beads of sweat dripped down his uncle’s forehead and his tidy grey hair became a ruffled mess. It was almost as though the trunk was pushing back and refusing to go into the dark hiding place. Several labour intensive minutes later the trunk was stored in it’s new summer resting place, and the cupboard door was locked with the click of a key. Despite being tired out and slightly worse for wear, Vernon appeared particularly pleased with himself for having taken away his nephew’s few cherished items.

 ‘Now, where has that ruddy owl of yours got to now?’

 ‘She’s probably out in the back garden, perched peacefully in a tree and minding her own business,’ Harry answered truthfully, wanting to get this over with so he could go on with spending his summer holidays miserably.

 ‘Right, that’s what you’d like us to think. Petunia and I welcomed you into our home and have given you so much out of the kindness of our hearts, and in return all you offer is ungrateful disobedience at every opportunity!’ Vernon stepped closer to Harry, fixing his eyes into an accusing glare before continuing. ‘After all we’ve given you, you still send that ruddy creature with letters full of lies to those freaks you call friends and that good for nothing convict of a Godfather.’

 ‘Don't you talk about him!’ Harry exploded, unable to control his emotions, rage pouring from deep within. ‘Don't you _dare_ talk about my Godfather! He's my only real family, _not_ you!’

 The air in the hallway began to crackle and the lights began to flicker dangerously as the potential for magic rushed around the house. Petunia and Dudley appeared in the corridor to see what the shouting was about and stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them. Petunia gasped and covered her mouth with a bony hand.

 Harry’s already unruly hair rushed in an unfelt wind as the shadows cast from the flickering lights danced and swirled in an increasingly quick circle around him. His eye’s narrowed and the usual sparkling emerald darkened as he clenched his teeth and balled his hands into fists at his sides.

 ‘I’ve sat around for _years_ and done nothing while you insulted me, my mother, my father, and all of my friends. _Not_ anymore! They have warned you, and now I am warning you, you will treat me properly and you will never, and I mean _never_ , speak of Sirius again!'

 Two nearby lights on the wall exploded, and all three Dursleys cried out in fear. Harry started toward the kitchen and they all pressed themselves tightly against the wall as he passed. The instant he walked out the kitchen door into the back garden, the wind disappeared and all the lights save for the ones that shattered, returned to normal.

 

* * *

 

‘M-master,’ a nervous voice stammered from the doorway of a room bathed in shadows. ‘The others have j-just returned.’ The squat figure sunk back toward the doorway slightly, his fear palpable as he waited.

 ‘And, did they bring me what I asked for?’ a second voice hissed coldly from the shadows, carrying with it the intense chill of a nuclear winter.

 Shaking and stammering more than usual, Peter Pettigrew lowered his head to his master before delivering his news.

 ‘N-no my Lord, they were not able to penetrate the p-protection left by Lily P-p’

 ‘You _dare_ speak her name!’ Voldemort’s chilling voice rang from the depths of the darkness, and a shadow seemed to slip away from the rest, toward the quivering servant. Two menacing, red eyes traveled closer to the twitchy, balding man where he shook visibly.

 ‘You speak, Wormtail, as though you still had feelings for that filthy mudblood woman, which leads me to wonder if those feelings must extend to her son as well.’ Voldemort’s bony figure loomed over Wormtail’s cowering body as he lifted a pale, skeletal hand to punish his follower.

 ‘N-no please my Lord,’ Wormtail stammered, his eyes wide and terrified. ‘I am only loyal to you. I d-do not know why I used that filth’s name. The b-boy means nothing to me. If it weren’t for your n-needing him, I would kill him m-myself,’ he scrambled for words, looking up at his master with desperate eyes.

 Voldemort’s cruel, pitiless laughter filled the room as he lifted his wand in Pettigrew’s direction, and said with more than a little pleasure from beneath his cowl, ‘All the same, _Crucio_!’

 ‘Noo!’ Harry woke up in a panic and sat bolt upright, throwing his hands to the searing pain in his forehead. He pulled his hands away quickly, feeling the white-hot burning hot against his fingers. His scar had never reacted quite like this before and he was not sure what to do. As the pain slowly ebbed away, Harry looked around him to see where he was, and why he was sitting on the cold earthen ground.

 Unlike his nightmare, the scene surrounding him now was one of warmth and cheer. The sun was shining brilliantly from its perch in the mid-afternoon sky, where it rested untouched by the few clouds that danced though the rare blue sky. Harry rested upon the trunk of a large oak tree in the Dursley’s back garden, and he was bathed in the cool shade offered by the outstretched branches overhead.

 The back of the Dursley’s two-story townhouse was in just as pristine a condition as the front. The paint was perfect, as were the angles of the shutters. The grass in the back garden was cut evenly and trimmed along the edges of the numerous well-placed gardens that followed the walking path through the tiny property. Each contained several bloomed specimens used as Petunia’s claim to fame. She tried every year for the blue ribbon at their neighbourhood garden, but never surpassed the second place. Nonetheless, she doubled her efforts every year, resulting in a more splendorous botanical display each year. A five-foot white picket fence stood guard around the Dursley residence, giving the illusion of security and privacy, when really it just allowed Harry’s aunt the opportunity to work in her garden and speak aloud so to gloat to the neighbours as she pretended they could not see her.

 Harry’s face hardened as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes to think about what had just happened. This was not good, not good at all. He had let Voldemort into his mind again, without any resistance whatsoever, and in the middle of the garden at midday no less! Who knew what the monster could have claimed as his own while he roamed through the intricate pathways that were Harry’s private thoughts and feelings. Why had he been so weak?

 Twisting his fingers in the grass at his side in frustration, he dislodged a clump of grass and sent it sailing over the fence. What had that dream meant? Why was Voldemort so concerned with Wormtail’s feelings for his mother? Everyone knew how much he had despised her even when he had still been friends with the Marauders. And why would Voldemort try and get Harry during the summer while he was protected by his mother’s love? It didn’t make sense.

 Harry tried his best to remember all the sinister details of his invasive dream, so that he could later relay it to Dumbledore or one of the other members of the Order. This reminded him that at some point this summer he would be returned to the dark Black Manor that served as Headquarters for the Order of The Phoenix.

 Harry sighed and closed his eyes trying not to think of his late Godfather, his image almost constantly tugging at the back of his mind and serving as a constant reminder of what he had lost. Harry was still being tormented in his dreams by the death of Sirius Black almost every night, despite his efforts to clear his mind. Harry understood the importance of Dumbledore’s warnings about Occlumency. Although he was not able to practice the art during the summer, he _could_ practice clearing his mind in order to prevent Voldemort from entering his mind and learning valuable information. This was the first time in a month that Voldemort had broken through the barriers set by Harry for his thoughts, but that he thought was still far too often.

 Harry brought his mind back to the present, where he could contemplate his new dilemma. He had used magic once again outside of Hogwarts and thus broke the decree for the use of magic of underage witches and wizards. He would surely be expelled this time and no matter what help Dumbledore offered, it most certainly would not be enough to keep him out of Azkaban. Considering the trial he'd undergone the year prior, and the crazed anger he’d seen in Fudge’s eyes, Harry would have bet all the galleons in his Gringott’s vault that the Minister would be out for blood.

 A thought suddenly struck him. He hadn’t used his wand and nothing had exactly happened except for a few shattered lights. Perhaps the Ministry had not even caught wind of the incident. No Muggles, other than the Dursley’s who already knew about his being a wizard would be the wiser, and as far as he could tell no one had been injured and the wizarding world was left uncompromised.

 Harry lay back on the soft grass, running a hand through his hair and again checking to see if his scar had returned to what he thought of as normal. In the Dursley’s front corridor, he had simply lost control of his magic as he did every summer away from Hogwarts. Yet this time was different somehow, and Harry could sense that he had changed for a moment in front of his family. The Dursley’s had never before looked so afraid. He had seen the look of utter terror in his cousin’s eyes as they watched the room become cast in shadows, and not once did his family members remove their eyes from him. He wondered what exactly had happened to him to strike such fear into people that he knew had quite a strong resolve when it came to him.

 Aunt Petunia came strolling out the kitchen door then in a summer dress and pearls, an iced beverage in one hand and pruning shears in the other. It was time for the afternoon show Harry liked to think of as ‘I’m better than you are’, starring Petunia Dursley. His thoughts were abruptly cut short as his aunt shouted over one of her perfectly pruned rose bushes at him.

 ‘Get up off your lazy behind and clean up the mess you made. You might think you can get away with whatever you want, but you are sadly mistaken.’ Lowering her voice to such a whisper that he had to lean over the shrub to hear her, she continued. ‘You are only safe while you are under my supervision. It is my blood that keeps _him_ away, so don’t you forget it,’ she hissed. ‘Now, do the dishes. You slept through lunch,’ she added from over her shoulder as she pulled several stubborn weeds from their strongholds in a flowerbed.

 

* * *

 

 The weeks went by slowly in Privet Drive, and Harry still had not heard from either of his best friends, so he decided that it was time to send Hedwig on a flight. He walked over to his desk to pull out some spare parchment, and realised angrily that all of his writing supplies were locked up with the rest of his school things in the cupboard under the stairs.

 Lying down on his bed, Harry stared up at his ceiling and thought of how he might get some parchment from his trunk. Maybe he could bribe his cousin for help. Although Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon acted as though his “tantrum” as they were now referring to it, hadn’t occurred, Dudley had begun to act strangely. He had become almost rebellious toward his parents and less hostile toward Harry. He rarely insulted his cousin and over the past two weeks, hadn’t even complained when Harry watched the television in his spare room three times. He thought it more than a little strange, but didn’t dare question it, taking full advantage instead.

 Perhaps he could approach Dudley while no one was around and offer him a week’s worth of his puddings. Dudley, still on his mother’s dreadful diet, would surely be unable to turn that down. He simply needed to wait for a time when his cousin was all alone, and then he could propose the trade.

 Picking up some of his oversized, second hand clothes off the ground, Harry quickly tossed Hedwig some owl treats before heading downstairs for tea, where he strode into the kitchen to find his family already sitting at the dinner table enjoying their meal. It was no surprise to him that they had started eating without him, but what shocked him was that Dudley and his parents were having a proper row; something almost unheard of until recently. He was used to Dudley’s typical whining and sulking, but not his genuine upset.

 ‘But son, you can’t always have everything you want, there are others to think about,’ Uncle Vernon was explaining to his hippo of a son. Harry found this an interesting and foreign concept for his cousin.

 ‘You see, it’s already begun! Soon you won’t even care anymore,’ Dudley said in a hurt voice to his mother, who actually rolled her eyes and placed her hands on the table next to her untouched dinner plate.

 ‘Of course we’re not going to stop caring, Duddikins,’ she explained tiredly, ‘We just can’t go spending the lot of our money on every little thing you ask for.’

 Harry made his way around his aunt’s chair and sat down in his regular seat to serve himself. As he reached out to spoon some roast potatoes onto his plate, Aunt Petunia’s pale hand reached out and grasped his wrist, stopping him. Harry stared at her in surprise. In all the years he had lived with his aunt, she had probably only touched him intentionally a handful of times.

 ‘Take mine,’ she said, ‘I’m not feeling all that well and there is no sense in wasting a perfectly nice plate of food. It’s gone cold now anyhow,’ she ended, sliding the plate in front of her nephew.

 ‘Not again tonight, Petunia,’ Vernon sounded distressed. ‘That’s three times this week already, and it’s only Thursday.’ Uncle Vernon shook his head then flattened his neatly parted grey hair to his head nervously. Had Harry looked at his cousin then, he might have recognised an unmistakably mischievous glint in his eyes, though he still would have been unprepared for his next question.

 ‘So,’ Dudley started, directing his comment at Harry, who had just taken a bite of steak and peas from his aunt’s plate of cold food, ‘what was it that my Aunt Lily did for a living?’

 Aunt Petunia stared at Dudley through wide eyes as though he had just uttered a disgusting swear word. Harry choked on a pea and began coughing madly. With tears in his eyes he looked up to see the disbelieving looks on his aunt and uncle’s faces as they looked on at their son. Harry gulped down some water from his glass, and stared at Dudley for a moment trying to understand what he had meant.

Dudley broke the awkward silence. ‘Well, mum and dad never talk about the freak side of the family, so ... was she a magic teacher, or a magic cop, a magic-' 

 ‘Dudley! What do you think you are doing?’ Uncle Vernon finally thundered, steak sauce dribbling down his chin.

Aunt Petunia looked paler than usual and as though she might faint. Harry took this opportunity, thinking it would be the perfect chance to get Dudley away from his parents for the trade he had in mind. He knew it was a slim chance, but it might be his only one.

 ‘Maybe we could go for a walk down to the park or around Magnolia Crescent?” Harry suggested standing up and putting his unfinished dinner on the countertop.

 ‘Oh, no you don’t!’ Uncle Vernon shouted, spraying the dinner table with wine and steak sauce.

 ‘Yeah, alright,’ Dudley said defiantly, following Harry to the kitchen door. They both walked into the dim light of the setting sun, and Harry could see Uncle Vernon fanning Aunt Petunia from where she lay on the floor, until Dudley’s large form blocked them from sight.


	2. Unexpected Ally

**Chapter 2: Unexpected Ally**

 The cool evening air was welcomed as it brushed across Harry’s face, and Dudley too seemed to enjoy it as he ran a hand through his hair. The sun was just setting for the night and the houses beyond Wisteria Walk were splashed eerily in a crimson light. The faint outline of the moon had already snuck halfway up into the evening sky and faint specks of shimmering light were quickly breaking through the velvety blue above. Harry was feeling particularly wary, as he knew how very sensitive the situation was. He needed something from Dudley, and he still hadn't the foggiest idea of what his cousin was playing at.

 Harry and Dudley fell into step as they walked down to the end of Privet Drive in silence, neither one knowing exactly what to say, and neither of them wanting to speak first. It had been extremely awkward for Harry to ask Dudley to go for a walk. It was the first time Harry had elected to do anything voluntarily with his cousin in fifteen and a half years. Although Harry knew why he wanted to talk to Dudley, he wasn’t sure why his cousin had been so willing to talk to him.

 Harry dug his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath before turning to Dudley and starting. ‘So, were you really interested in what my mum did, or were you just taking the mick, or maybe trying to start a row with your parents?’ he said cautiously, hoping that he wouldn’t get a fist to the side of his head.

 ‘Bit of both. Was trying to get a rise out of mum and dad, but s'pose I am curious,’ Dudley responded with a shrug, kicking an empty soda can onto someone’s garden. ‘I’m not going soft or nothing, but after everythin that's happened round here, well ...’ he said looking at Harry with an uncomfortably guarded face.

 Harry sighed. At least his cousin had begun with the truth. In for a penny ...

 ‘Well what do you want to know about them? There’s not much I can say that won’t involve the magical world,’ he said cautiously, looking around to make sure there was no one around who could overhear them. The street was clear and the sun had completely sunk behind the homes ahead. Magnolia Crescent was now bathed in the eerie yellow glow of street lamps and the little light offered from the glittering sky above.

 ‘I know you idiot, I'm not daft,’ Dudley’s voice answered him with indignation; something frankly Harry thought Dudley incapable of expressing. He chose not to comment, and carried on.

 ‘All right, well, where to begin? My mum was what the wizarding world calls an Auror. That’s someone who catches dark wizards and witches and sends them to the wizarding prison, Azkaban. From what I’ve heard, my mum was a damn good one!’ Harry said with a rush of pride. It was a strange feeling, as he’d never discussed this with anyone.

 The thought of his mum apprehending dark wizards all over Britain made him feel that he could most definitely be a great Auror as well, no matter what that Hag Umbridge had said.

 For the next half-hour Harry spoke of all he could think of about his parents from what he had learned from Professor Lupin, Sirius and Hagrid, while Dudley focused as though Harry was his own personal telly, sometimes with wide eyes. Harry wasn’t sure how long this unexpected truce would last, and was still entirely suspicious of his cousin’s motives, but it felt surprisingly good to be talking about his parents with someone who wouldn’t pity him, so he carried on.

 The two boys continued to walk down the deserted streets as Harry told his tale and only stopped briefly to do up their jumpers when a cool air swept by. When he was done, they had already reached the park at the end of Magnolia Crescent and were sitting on an old vandalised park bench near the side of the road. Harry would not describe the experience as comfortable, like time spent with his friends, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant either. It certainly beat the usual torrent of abuse he had grown to expect from his cousin. If anything, this was an entirely foreign feeling, and Harry half-expected the real Dudley to re-emerge at any moment.

 Harry looked up at his cousin and saw that he was staring determinedly at the corner of Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk, a dark look behind his eyes.

 ‘What are you looking at, Dud?’ 

 ‘Don’t you remember? It was only just last summer,’ he pointed a sausage like finger at the edge of the road where a white metal fence sat undisturbed near the curb. Leaves rustled in the wind and litter whirled by in front of the lonely fence. The broken street lamp above did not contribute to the leering shadows on the road but remained dark, never having been repaired since that night eleven months before.

 Realising what his cousin meant, Harry shuddered at the thought of the foul creatures that had attacked them in plain sight of a Muggle residence, and pulled his jumper around himself tighter to warm up. Is this what had brought about the change in his cousin? Perhaps Dudley's terrifying experience had led him to seek out information about the magical world. He had given little thought to how the Dementor attack might have impacted his cousin, and now he wondered if there might yet be some good to come from the otherwise horrifying incident.

 ‘You mean the Dementors, don’t you?’ Harry asked quietly, not wanting to worsen the feelings Dudley might be remembering. The cold emptiness, and the thought that he would never be cheerful again.

 Dudley nodded his fat head. ‘And your mum had to work with them things,’ he grunted, shivering.

 ‘My Godfather was even stronger. He spent twelve years of his life in a small cell in the prison, under constant guard from them.’ Immediately after saying this to his cousin, he wished he hadn’t; he really wasn’t in the mood to discuss Sirius, not yet.

 ‘You had a proper fit last time you talked about him,’ Dudley blurted, though Harry caught the trepidation in his eyes, most likely due to his most recent ‘tantrum’. ‘If he’s so great, why don’t you go live with him?’

 Harry imagined the question was not meant to provoke, but rather missed the mark. He looked up at the sky and blinked hard a few times. He would not cry in front of his cousin. The stars shone in the heavens like diamonds cast into a dark chasm, and Harry noticed something that he never had before. A peculiar grouping of stars seemed to be shining more brightly than the others, as though wands were stationed above casting Lumos, and Harry smiled.

 ‘There, right there Dud, do you see it?’ he asked, leaning closer to his cousin and pointing toward the twinkling constellation. ‘That is why I don’t live with my Godfather. It’s called Sirius, the Dog Star in Canis Major.’

 Dudley looked on in confusion for a moment, and then understood what Harry meant. ‘Oh’.

 ‘Yeah, at the hands of the same people who have taken away everyone else from me, so if you don’t mind I’d rather not discuss it,’ he said quietly. ‘Now it’s your turn. What’s going on?’ he asked staring at his cousin, who stood up slowly using the bench for support, and started walking toward home. ‘What have your parents done to make you so angry?’

 Dudley whirled around and pointed a finger in Harry’s face, making him stagger backward over the curb in surprise and fall onto the grass. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, and I never said that we were mates or anything’ he spat. ‘Just 'cause I’m talking to you don’t mean that we’ll be best pals now and do everything together,’ Dudley continued backing away from Harry a bit so that he could stand himself up again. ‘I just figure that if we have to live together, we can talk a bit, ya know.’

 ‘All right,’ Harry said through gritted teeth as he brushed the grass off his clothes, and tried to calm himself after his fall. How could he not have seen this coming? He’d known a permanent ceasefire was unlikely, and as usual, Dudley didn't disappoint. ‘I don’t expect you to be my mate,’ Harry continued as he walked up beside Dudley, hearing him huff as he trudged slowly back to his home, ‘I just thought that maybe every now and again we could help each other out.’

 Harry decided this would probably be his only chance to ask Dudley for help with his school supplies. After all, tomorrow he might be over whatever it was he was fighting with the Dursleys for, and go back to hating him. ‘So, I was thinking-’

 ‘Alright then,’ Dudley interrupted him, ‘you can help me out with somethin’.’ He looked up at Harry and gave a used car salesman smile, making Harry narrow his eyes warily.

 ‘It depends,’ Harry said slowly, ‘on what it is you need help with, and if you’ll do me a favor in return.’

 ‘Anything, 'specially if mum and dad won’t like it,’ Dudley said, turning quickly to face Harry, causing his many chins to wobble. ‘But you've got to help me get as small as you are, and get me off my bloody diet!’

 Harry stopped and stared at his cousin, unsure how to reply. He hadn’t expected such a request and he was almost certain that it was an impossible feat. ‘How do you expect me to help you?’ Harry asked his cousin incredulously, looking him up and down and wondering what had brought on this sudden idea.

 Dudley's desperation was quickly replaced by what Harry recognized to be the warning signs of anger. ‘I don't know! Why do you think I'm asking you? I’m not the Freak with magic! You think I wanted your help, after all the freaky things you’ve done to this family?'

 Not wanting to blow his chance at getting his things back, Harry decided to tread forward carefully. ‘To tell you the truth Dud, I really don’t know how to help you.’

 ‘Just wave your stick and say some freaky words. You’ve had no problem doing it before!’ his cousin nearly shouted.

 ‘I’m not allowed to use magic underage. I’d get expelled. And even if I was, I have no idea to do what you’re asking.’ Harry watched as his cousin’s face darkened and he started to turn away from him. He was going to lose his chance to get his parchment. ‘But, I don’t see why I couldn’t start running and showing you a few things the Muggle way.’ 

 Harry let out a sigh of relief as Dudley’s massive form turned back toward him and his face had a hesitant grin rolling from one chunky cheek to the other. As they walked back down Privet Drive, Harry told Dudley all the details he had worked out to get his parchment, and just as he had hoped, his cousin agreed immediately to help him out. He had no idea though, how he would keep up his end of their bargain.

 Walking down the silent and ever curving road in the shadows cast by the overhead street lamps, and plotting back and forth, any on-looking stranger would not have thought the pair to have expressed years of hatred and loathing, but instead might mistake them for friends.

 

 

* * *

 

Sirius dodged curse after blinding curse. A sizzling red light suddenly streaked past his left ear making him recoil, luckily placing him millimeters from where a blue shot of light would have struck him. His taunts continued to fill the round stone room at the Department of Mysteries, as the woman he counter-cursed grew increasingly agitated and constantly marked his every move.

 ‘Is that the best you’ve got,’ Sirius shouted from his position atop the stone dais, at the dark witch standing only metres away. One final curse shot from the wand of one of Voldemort’s most loyal servants and caught Sirius Black directly in the chest. A look of shock played on the handsomely tortured face of Harry’s Godfather, before all life was wiped clean and he fell backward.

 The worst noise Harry could ever remember sounded in the large chamber as his and Remus Lupin’s cries intermingled and were then drowned out by a cold, affected laughter. The shrill voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, cousin to the last, and now late, member of the Black family resonated of the thick stone walls as she rejoiced in the murder of her despised relative. After having watched his only hope for happiness disappear through the veil, Harry chased Bellatrix as she fled from what she considered an immense victory, but stopped suddenly when he heard a haunting but hope-inspiring sound.

 ‘Harry, are you there? It’s Sirius,’ the distant, toneless voice droned from somewhere behind him.

 Turning around quickly, Harry found that the room which seconds before had contained a handful of Death Eaters and the strongest members of the Order, was now empty, save for him.

 The veil sat quietly for a moment upon the large stone dais where it was placed, the black curtain still flowing eerily. Harry was no longer tempted to enter it involuntarily; perhaps as it was not pulsing it’s charm having just been sated by its newest arrival.

 ‘Harry,’ Sirius’ voice floated up from the depths of the veil once more, causing Harry to think that he was simply beyond the curtain and that maybe if he could just reach in, then he could pull his Godfather back out.

 ‘Sirius. I’m right here Sirius,’ Harry called into the quiet room, his voice bouncing off the dark walls and echoing back at him. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he stepped carefully towards his Godfather’s voice, where it emerged once again from its new prison.

 ‘Goodbye Harry,’ Sirius’ voice sent fear coursing through Harry’s suddenly tense form, and causing him to shake as he spoke.

 ‘N-no Sirius, don’t leave me,’ Harry called back, his eyes welling up with tears as he fell to his knees and looked up expectantly at the black curtain floating barely a foot in front of his quivering face.

 ‘I have no choice,’ the voice answered him, ‘not that I would want to stay anyway.’

 The tonelessness had abruptly dropped away and was replaced by something cold, menacing, and dripping with sarcasm. A tone Harry had never heard come from his godfather’s mouth.

 ‘What are you talking about?’ he asked the curtain, unready for what came next.

 ‘Why would I want to stay in a world where my only family members are a murderous Death Eater, and a coward teenage boy?’ the voice answered.

 Harry fell backward from the dais and scrambled to pull himself farther away as quickly as he could, a look of utter horror on his disbelieving face.

 ‘What, did you think I would want to live with such a sickening coward?’ the sound filled the room, not allowing Harry to escape it. Covering his ears, he shut his eyes tightly and tried to block the cruel voice from his mind. ‘A coward,’ the voice boomed, ‘who couldn’t even save the person he claimed to. No wonder your parents were happy to be rid of you.’

 Harry sat alone in the corner of the dark room, angry tears falling openly down his now blank face, and soaking the front of his robes. No words would form in his mind as he sat uncomprehending and listened to the horrible things his Godfather said.

 ‘I thought it a pity that your parents had died, but now that I’m here, and rid of you, I can understand how wrong I was. It was the best thing that ever happened to them.’

 Harry started shaking his head defiantly, words racing in his mind but still not forming any coherent sentences.

 ‘But don’t worry Harry,’ the cold voice said in almost a consoling tone, ‘you can’t hurt me anymore. I just wonder ... how long will it be until Ron and Hermione realise what you are, and find their pleasure in welcoming death.’

 ‘Noo!’ Harry screamed deafeningly, finally connecting his mind to his mouth and shouting as loud as his voice would allow.

 He looked all around him and found that he was sitting up in his bed, his sweat soaked sheets tangled around his legs. He lay his head back down and tried to clear his mind. The nightmares were getting worse, so much so that Harry almost welcomed a mind invasion from Voldemort, just to relieve him of the torment he experienced every night when he heard Sirius’ voice.

 It had been several weeks since the horrible incident, and still every night he relived it in greater intensity than the last. His rational mind knew it wasn’t true, that it was all lies and that he mustn’t blame himself for his Godfather death, but still a guilty tugging at the back of his mind reminded him constantly that he was the reason that Sirius was at the Department of Mysteries that night. If he hadn’t been so rash, he might have used the mirror given him by Sirius to see that the man was safe.

 Throwing his wet sheets and T-shirt to the floor, Harry got out of bed and staggered to his bureau. Fumbling in the darkness, he pulled out a dry shirt and let his hand rest on something flat and smooth. He withdrew the slim photo album Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year. Walking over to his desk and placing the album down, he took a seat in his chair and allowed his body to be bathed in the soft moonlight that poured through his window.

 Hedwig, fast asleep in her cage made a low purring sound as she adjusted a wing and slept on. Harry spent the next few moments quietly flipping through the yellowing pages of his past and only documentation of his life with his parents. When he felt sleep tug at his eyes once more, he left the album open on his desk and climbed back into bed, where almost instantly he drifted back to sleep, hoping he wouldn’t dream again.

 Sitting perched on a high tree branch outside his window, two bright green eyes shone mysteriously as they watched the rhythmic rise and fall of the boy’s chest as he slept. Turning its attention to the desk, the animal spotted an open book and crept slowly down the branch to get a closer look. The creature cocked its head as it gazed at a picture of a dark-haired, bespectacled wizard and a flaming red-haired witch sitting in a garden outside a peaceful little cottage. The sun shone brightly, reflecting their love and happiness as they looked down on a seemingly perfect dark-haired baby between them.

 The magical beast sat for a moment, entranced by the love filled photo, and then gazed at the sleeping boy only feet away, dreaming of horrors that only his mind knew. Turning its head to go, the fiery red bird spread its wings and took off soaring high into the sky, a single tear dripping down it’s beak and onto the perfectly kempt grass below. The bird flew silently away from number Four Privet Drive, the only evidence it was there sat in the middle of the Dursley’s front yard as a fully bloomed and lonely looking flower. A white Lily.

 

* * *

 

Sunlight crept through the uncovered window into the Dursleys’ smallest, barest room until it flooded the entire space with a warm glow that extended to Harry Potter’s sleeping features. He neither enjoyed nor disliked the warm feeling, as he was abruptly woken moments later by a suffocating weight covering his entire head. Instantly throwing his arms up to try and grasp the foreign object, he found himself looking up at a smirking Dudley.

 ‘Get up,’ Dudley’s round sleepy face said to him as he took in deep breaths and stared incredulously at his cousin.

 ‘What are you on about?’ Harry asked, looking over at his simple alarm clock sitting on the desk across the room from him. ‘6:15!’ he cried, ‘you’ve got to be kidding. What could you possibly expect from me at quarter past six in the bloody morning?’ he grumbled turning on his side and buried his face once more into his pillow.

 ‘Get up!’ Dudley said more resolutely this time, grabbing Harry’s pillow and wrenching it from beneath him so that his head clanged hard against the metal frame of the bed.

 ‘What is your problem?’ Harry asked sitting up and tangling his fingers in his mop of black hair to rub the newly forming goose egg.

 ‘You said we’d go running every morning, so get up, lazy,’ the large boy reminded him. Harry found Dudley calling him lazy quite ironic as he was thin and did most of the house chores, while Dudley was the size of a small hippopotamus and sat on the couch every day doing nothing but watch the television or play his video games. ‘Or I could go and tell dad about your plan to get your school things,’ Dudley threatened.

 Harry sprung out of bed and glared at his cousin. ‘Fine, we’ll go running, but why does it have to be so early in the morning,’ Harry asked him in frustration as he pulled on a pair of track bottoms and a grey T-shirt. Looking up at his cousin, Harry suddenly guffawed and couldn’t stop his laughter, placing a hand on his bureau to keep upright, ‘What,’ he managed to say between laughs, ‘are you wearing?’

 Dudley’s smile vanished. He was wearing a pair of stretchy yellow trousers, a black stripe running down the side of each trunk-sized leg, and a matching yellow top and sweatband. Combined with his size, the blindingly yellow outfit made Dudley look like world’s largest bumblebee sat in the middle of Harry’s bedroom.

 ‘Mum bought it for me when I started my diet,’ he said narrowing his eyes at Harry warningly, ‘said it would be good for jogging’. His look dared Harry, who was struggling to keep a straight face, to mock him. It was all he could do to not laugh at his stretchy-trousered cousin. ‘Laugh and I’ll bust your face in,’ Dudley said in a quiet growl, causing Harry to instantly sober up and resume dressing himself.

 Stepping into the back garden and feeling the sun’s ray’s bathe his face, Harry could tell that it was going to be an extremely warm day. Suddenly glad they were going to run in the morning while the sun was still low in the cloudless sky, Harry began walking around the side of the house shrouded in the shadow Dudley’s large form provided as he followed him. Once the boys were standing on the crushed rock drive in front of the Dursleys’ home, Harry surveyed his cousin with crossed arms wondering where to begin.

 ‘So Dud,’ he said to his alarmingly yellow cousin, ‘have you ever jogged before?’ knowing full well what his response would be. He wasn’t sure whether Dudley knew how to warm up, and while his suit was able to stretch, Harry wasn’t sure that Dudley’s body could.

 ‘Nope,’ Dudley shook his head, twisting his hands and waiting for Harry to start running.

 ‘Ok, well first we have to warm up,’ Harry started, ‘by doing stretches so that our legs don’t cramp up,’ he said trying to remember how his P.E. teacher had taught him back in primary school.

 ‘You start and I’ll watch you this time,’ Dudley told his cousin, turning to find somewhere he could sit down.

 ‘Not a chance!’ Harry said sternly, pursing his lips in such a way that even professor McGonagall would have been proud. ‘You wanted to run, you’ll do it all,’ Harry said before turning and explaining to Dudley how to stretch his legs, leaving no room for argument. If he had to be up and stretching at this ungodly hour, so did Dudley.

 They had hardly been warming up for three minutes when Harry noticed the beads of sweat forming on Dudley’s expansive forehead, and running down the sides of his face. Harry had no idea how he was going to get him running. This would likely be a one-off for his cousin, and then things would go back to normal.

 ‘All right, let’s get started,’ he said, making sure his laces were tied tightly and he set off down the drive, turning right at the end.

 Letting his arms glide back and forth in rhythm at his sides, Harry jogged slowly as he watched Dudley try and mimic his running style. It was more than a valiant effort on Harry’s part, not to laugh as Dudley’s legs made a swishing sound as the material between his legs rubbed together with every lurch forward.

 By the time the pair had reached the end of Privet Drive, Dudley was panting and gasping for air, sticking out one of his arms so that he could lean on a red post box on the corner. The iron pillar surprisingly held up under the immense pressure of the small elephant called Dudley.

 Harry was starting to feel good, like he could run for another half-hour at least. He hated to admit it, but running every morning with his cousin might not be a horrible idea, even if he was certain there was an ulterior motive he’d not yet discovered. A little physical exertion might be just the thing to help relieve some of his stress and clear his head.

 ‘Magnolia Crescent and to the park, or Wisteria Walk and to the other end of Privet?” Harry gave his panting cousin the choice, ‘Either is fine for me,’ he added, running a hand across his forehead and not feeling any sweat as he barely even felt warmed up.

 ‘How ‘bout back down Privet and home?’ Dudley suggested, not wanting to go any further, ‘I’ve had enough for tod-’ he started to say but then stopped as something caught his eye down Magnolia Crescent.

 Harry craned his neck to see what had caught his cousin's eye and was shocked to see a pretty brown-haired girl running toward them from halfway down Magnolia Crescent, her hair swaying behind her with every step. She was wearing a pink and black spandex jogging outfit and was running toward the boys at a fair pace; it was clear this was not her first run. Dudley stood up straight and Harry watched in amusement as he sucked in his gut the best he could, consequently puffing out his chest, as the girl came running up to them.

 Harry stifled a laugh.

 ‘Hi Dudley, how are you?’ the dark-haired girl said, the plait at the back of her head falling over her shoulder as she stopped. Her voice was quiet and girlie, much like Parvati Patil’s, and her eyes were a startling ice blue. She smiled at Dudley, exposing her straight white teeth, and the smile extended to her eyes, making them really pop. She really was pretty.

 ‘G-good morning Maria,’ Dudley stammered slightly as he stared at the girl in front of him, smiling back a very toothy grin. ‘Nice morning for a run, isn’t it?’ he asked her, trying to sound casual and as though he did this often.

 ‘Yes, quite,’ she said, ‘I always try to come early in the morning like this to try and beat the heat.’

 Aha! Harry knew there had been a reason for Dudley to want to go running so early in the morning. He thought it had been to avoid the heat, but the sneaky git had known when Maria went running every morning and just wanted to ensure that he ran into her. ‘Not a bad idea’ he thought to himself, as he leaned on the large tree trunk and waited for Dudley to be ready to go back to number Four. Today's adventure was clearly over.

 'I really like your jogging suit,’ Maria said to Dudley, smiling more broadly, ‘You look really smart in it,’ she added quickly before batting her eyelashes and playing with her plait.

 Harry coughed slightly and blinked in disbelief; was Maria actually flirting with Dudley? She couldn’t possibly be interested in him, could she? Until yesterday he'd never been anything but a complete prat.

 Hearing Harry in the background and turning toward him as though she just noticed his presence, she held out her hand, ‘Hello there, I’m Maria Brown. I go to school with Dudley.’ Then she gazed at Harry expectantly, waiting for the dark-haired boy to introduce himself.

 ‘Oh sorry, I’m Harry Potter,’ he said holding out his hand and shaking hers, ‘Dudley’s cousin.’

 Her eyes widened and for a moment Harry thought he saw her eyes travel to the scar on his forehead before turning back to Dudley, ‘You never said you had a cousin, Dud?’

 ‘Oh, well I do, and that’s him,’ Dudley stated, pointing at Harry unnecessarily.

 Maria looked at Harry once more as he brushed his hand through his hair and gave a sigh; the weather was really starting to heat up.

 ‘Where’d you get that scar?’ Maria asked looking up at Harry, who suddenly became nervous and shifted his weight back and forth.

 ‘Um, I, well you see-’ Harry started awkwardly. This had never come up before; everyone in the wizarding world knew of his famous scar and just pointed at it without needing an explanation. Maria stared up at him expectantly.

 ‘He got it when an evil wizard tried to kill him as a baby,’ Dudley said casually, tilting his head toward Harry and shrugging his shoulders as though he spoke of magic on a regular basis.

 ‘Dudley!’ Harry cried, not believing what his cousin had just told a Muggle girl, who probably thought they were crazy and would run off to tell the Muggle newspapers, ‘What do you think you’re-’

 ‘I knew it!’ Maria shouted excitedly, jumping on the spot and making Harry stare at her with wide eyes, ‘You’re Harry Potter, and you go to Hogwarts, right?’ she stated more than asked him.

 Harry looked around wildly, ensuring nobody had overheard her and unsure of what to say in response. Did the Muggle papers do a prime time write up on him as well, or was Rita Skeeter on the loose and making him pay in the Muggle world for what Hermione had done to her?

 ‘H-how do you know about Hogwarts?’ Harry finally formed his question, narrowing his eyes and leaning closer towards her so not to miss a word she said.

 ‘My cousin told me all about you! Lavender Brown, she’s in Gryffindor with you,’ she said flashing her white smile once more.

 He let out a pent up breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding in and leaned back on the tree in understanding. ‘So you’re not a witch then?’ he inquired, pushing up his glasses and lifting his hand to shade his eyes from the rapidly rising sun.

 ‘No, Lavender’s the first in the family. It was quite a shock when Uncle Robert told us.’

 ‘So,’ Dudley said, trying to re-enter the conversation, ‘are we going to keep running, Harry?’

 ‘I thought you wanted to go home, said you were tired,’ Harry replied looking up at his cousin who was furiously wobbling his head in protest behind Maria.

 ‘Of course not, we’ve only just begun,’ Dudley said smiling at Maria who looked back at him and asked if they would like to join her. Dudley immediately accepted, leaning closer to where Maria was standing and waiting for Harry's response.

 ‘No. You two go ahead,’ Harry told the pair and walked forward onto the sidewalk. ‘I think I’ll head back now and start on the garden.’

 He really did not feel like running with Dudley while he made a fool of himself, and even less with Maria who seemed to know all about him, through Lavender’s gossip. He could only begin to imagine the twisted versions of Hogwarts events Lavender would have passed on to her.

 Turning to the left, he began jogging down Magnolia Crescent, looking over his shoulder to see the large form of Dudley straining to keep up with Maria’s graceful stride. As he ran down the nearly deserted street he came up to the spot of the Dementors’ attack again and shivered involuntarily. Some feelings never went away.


	3. Petunia's Secret

**Chapter 3: Petunia’s Secret**

 People were starting to stir in their houses, and the smell of frying bacon filled the air as Harry walked along Wisteria Walk. Most of the homes in this area were in pristine condition, much like the Dursleys’, and had impressive gardens running down the walkways.

 A particular house stood out now as he approached it, bright purple flowers hung from the tree in the front yard, and a short old woman in fuzzy blue slippers was standing under it with crossed arms.

 ‘I wondered when you’d stop by,’ came the low croaky voice from under the lilac tree.

 ‘Hello, Mrs. Figg,’ Harry waved as he neared her white townhouse, adorned with green shutters and a brilliant crimson door.

 Harry had only just learned of Arabella Figg’s Squib status the previous summer, moments after he had conjured a Patronus charm to ward off the Dementors’ attack. She had been working for Dumbledore since the day he was left on the Dursleys’ doorstep, and although she was unable to perform magic, she could still relay messages to him about Harry’s safety whilst he was away from the castle. While Harry found Mrs. Figg friendly enough, he resented having a secret baby-sitter and never knowing about it.

 ‘How are you?’ he asked the old woman, who placed a wrinkled hand to the side of his head gingerly and fumbled through the wind blown mess of dark hair to press on his new bump.

 ‘Quite well, at the moment,’ she replied through narrowed eyes as she looked him up and down, looking for other bumps and bruises she would undoubtedly report to the old headmaster. ‘You, on the other hand, don’t look so well,’ she said poking the bump a little harder and making him wince in pain. ‘What happened to your head, Potter?’ she asked him, her tone conveying suspicion rather than concern.

 Harry looked down at the old woman clothed in purple trousers too short for her legs and a pale blue cardigan two sizes too large. He was only a couple of inches taller than her, but it was enough that she had to look up and over her large rimmed glasses to see straight into his face.

 ‘I bumped my head in bed this morning,’ he told her, ‘No big deal, it’ll go away soon,’ he added, trying to smile convincingly.

 Not looking convinced by the details of his story, Mrs. Figg turned around and headed down the walkway toward her home. Looking back over her shoulder at Harry, she huffed impatiently. ‘Well come on then, you can’t very well drink tea from out here,’ she mumbled more to herself than anyone.

 Harry took in a deep breath and accepted the old woman’s invitation by following her up her stone front steps, pausing for a moment to notice the large purple numbers on the side of a window that the Dursleys would surely have found downright offensive, and then ducked through the door.

 Once inside the small, basically ordinary townhouse Harry looked around wide-eyed at all of the new changes Mrs. Figg had made since his last visit years before. Now that Harry knew she was a Squib, she had dropped the pretense of living as a Muggle. Mrs. Figg had clearly had a witch or wizard stop by to cast an enlargement spell on her home, as once inside, it was nearly the size of Grimmauld Place, reaching five stories up. Seeing the drastic difference from the outside to the in, Harry was reminded of the first time he had set foot inside a wizard's tent at the World Cup two summers before.

 Mrs. Figg told him to go and make himself comfortable while she put the teapot on the burner, informing him she was more than capable of preparing tea when he offered to help. He watched as her small frame retreated down the large corridor into the center of the house.

 While the size of her home was different, Harry noted that Mrs. Figg had not eliminated the odour. The pungent smell of a home with too many cats drifted in the air and tickled at the back of Harry’s throat making him gag as he walked in further. Trying to ignore the feline presence and breathe through his mouth, Harry walked into the expanded living area and looked around.

 The old library that had sat in a dusty corner next to an electric heater, now stood twice as tall and three times as wide next to a four foot tall fireplace in which a golden fire burned merrily. Harry spotted all of the old books he had read as a child when he was left there by the Dursleys, but also noticed hundreds of newer, or rather older volumes lining the walls. Most of them magical reference books and textbooks used in Charms and Transfiguration. Harry smiled as he thought of the look on Hermione’s crestfallen face when he told her about what she had missed.

 In no time at all, Harry was following Mrs. Figg out of the library and deeper into the newly developed home. The old slanted walls in the hallway reminded Harry greatly of the buildings in Diagon Alley, each sloping in awkward and impossible angles. Emerging through an oddly rounded doorway, he looked around with surprise as the sitting room they had just entered was modeled to match the Slytherin common room down to the last painting.

 Harry had only been in the most despised house’s common room once before, but that was all he had needed to know that the Gryffindors’ was a hundred times better. His eyes scanned the room as he followed Mrs. Figg to a comfortable black leather sofa. He noticed the cold, dark stones molding the walls of the large room, covered in green and silver serpentine hangings, and the thick green rugs that lay on the floor. Across from him, Mrs. Figg sat on an identical couch and began to pour the tea that sat on a black coffee table. Her features glowed eerily in the flickering light from the fireplace and Harry shivered involuntarily. Just as in second year, the large silver fireplace expelled little heat from its acid green flames as they danced and licked at the walls around them.

 ‘Mrs. Figg, why do you have the Slytherin Common Room in your home?’ He took a sip of his tea and burned the tip of his tongue.

 Mrs. Figg narrowed her eyes and stared at him, a look of curiosity forming behind the dark slits. ‘How exactly would a Gryffindor like yourself know the decor of the Slytherin common room?” she tilted her head slightly to one side and watched Harry squirm in his seat.

 Why had he asked that? He hadn’t even thought that she would notice he was from a different house, and now he would have to explain why he entered another common room illegally. Was she going to tell Dumbledore, and was he going to be in trouble?

 ‘Please don’t tell the Headmaster,’ he pleaded, green eyes glowing brighter than ever in the flickering light of the green flames. ‘In second year, I snuck into the common room using Polyjuice potion to try and find out if Draco Malfoy was the one who had opened the Chamber of Secrets,’ he said quickly, hoping that if he spoke quickly enough she might not understand it all.

 ‘I see,’ she said, a thin-lipped smirk spreading across her lined face, not unlike Malfoy’s signature smirk. ‘You must have broken a dozen school rules, five alone for brewing that advanced potion,’ she added.

 ‘Please, you won’t tell the Headmaster will you?’

 ‘Of course not,’ Mrs. Figg said with a short laugh, more at Harry than anything else, ‘I bled silver and green and have always had a great respect for the cunning. Something you clearly possess in great proportions, given half the adventures I’ve heard about you in your first five year at Hogwarts.’

 ‘I don’t understand,’ Harry looked confused and relieved all at once.

 ‘It’s no wonder you weren’t placed in Ravenclaw,’ Mrs. Figg smirked once more, ‘I was in Slytherin, boy,’ she finally said exasperatedly, the way that Hermione often did when explaining things to him and Ron. ‘This room was modeled after my old common room,’ she explained, and her eyes toured the room in pride.

 ‘But, you’re a Squib,’ Harry blurted, looking at the old woman before him with shock. ‘How could you have been at Hogwarts?’

 ‘You really are quite dim, aren’t you, Potter,’ a sneering cold voice came from the grate beside Harry, making him start and look around wildly. ‘And a coward too,’ the all too familiar voice of Severus Snape filled the air.

 Harry turned to see his greasy-haired, hook-nosed professor’s head bobbing lightly in the flames.

 ‘I’m not sure how you got into my potions class, not that it matters much. You won’t last more than a week. Any assignment with a grade less than Exceeds Expectations and you will be automatically removed,’ Snape sneered. He obviously took great pleasure at the prospect of ridding Harry of a necessary course for his Auror training.

 ‘Just in time Severus, as always,’ Mrs. Figg said turning her attention to the man’s head. ‘I was just about to explain to young Potter here, how I came to be a Slytherin and a Squib,’ she said, raising her eyebrows and staring at the Head of her old house.

 ‘Always a pleasure, Arabella,’ Snape hissed.

 ‘Now then,’ Mrs. Figg started, ‘I got my Hogwarts letter just like everyone else, and on my first night there I was sorted with the rest of the students. I spent my first two years in Slytherin until the Chamber of Secrets was opened and a girl in my year was killed,’ Mrs. Figg shook her head and sighed before continuing. ‘As I was Muggle-born, my parents felt it unsafe to be at Hogwarts and removed me from the school, where I came to live in London and attended a Muggle academy. I enjoyed it so much that when the time came, I decided not to return to Hogwarts after Hagrid’s expulsion, and instead chose the life of a Squib. Many Muggleborn students chose to do the same during the Dark Lord’s first reign of terror,’ she added as though it was common knowledge.

 ‘I never knew,’ Harry said quietly, ‘and you don’t miss doing magic?’ he asked her, thinking of how utterly depressed he would be if he lost the chance to ever cast a spell again.

 ‘I have never regretted a decision in my life,’ Mrs. Figg said, lifting her head high and reminding Harry of Percy Weasley, ‘Although I have to admit that making tea and cleaning house would be easier had I developed proper wand skills.’

 ‘You would have made a fine witch,’ Snape said from his place in the fire, ‘just as all the other noble Slytherins,’ he added, and glared at Harry.

 ‘Thank you, Severus. Now what new information do you have for me?’ Mrs. Figg asked, a serious expression set firmly on her face, ‘Was Dumbledore able to find her?’

 ‘Of course. It was not easy, but as always I managed’ the sallow-skinned potions professor replied arrogantly.

 ‘So she’s agreed then. That’s wonderful!’ Arabella Figg said with a broad smile on her face, something Harry rarely saw. ‘ Does Lupin know yet?’ she asked suddenly, the smile vanishing.

 ‘No. Not yet. Dumbledore thought it unwise to mention it before the beginning of term,’ Snape said coolly, a grin now seeping across his face too.

 ‘Who has Dumbledore found?’ Harry asked, unable to remain silent any longer while Snape relished in some secret kept from Harry’s favorite Defense professor. ‘And why can’t professor Lupin know?’

 Snape’s smile vanished and the merry gleam in his eyes sunk back into the dark depths behind. ‘That is none of your concern Potter. You best keep your nose out of the Order’s business, but then again you always have meddled in things you could not even begin to understand. Just like your arrogant father,’ Snape drawled.

 ‘Well Arabella, as delightful as this has been, I’m afraid I must go and speak with, well you know …’ he emphasized the last part to irritate Harry further.

 ‘Thank you, Severus. Same time on Thursday?’ she asked, and his head nodded from the roaring flames before disappearing altogether.

 Mrs. Figg looked at Harry who sat opposite her seething with anger in his seat. The blood had rushed to his face making him redden like a cranberry in the cheeks, and he had his arms crossed in a sulky fashion.

 ‘Now Potter, why don’t you tell me how your summer has been so far,’ she asked him to change the subject quickly.

 ‘Fine’ he answered, not wanting to discuss Sirius but knowing that that was what she had meant.

 ‘I see,’ she said, sensing his unwillingness to breach that topic, and did not press any further. ‘How about the Dursleys? Are they treating you half decently?’ her face hardened at the thought of such horrible people.

 ‘They’re alright,’ Harry answered truthfully, as they weren’t treating him any worse then they had in previous years. ‘Dudley and I actually seem to get along this summer, oddly, but I think he’s just rebelling against his parents. He’s even taken a fancy to a Muggle who knows all about Hogwarts and magic,’ he added shaking his head in disbelief, as he could still hardly believe it himself.

 ‘Miss Brown’s cousin. Maria.’ Mrs. Figg confirmed.

 Harry nodded, unsurprised. If there was anyone who knew more about eavesdropping and spying on neighbours than Aunt Petunia, it was Mrs. Figg.

 ‘Aunt Petunia has been acting oddly as well,’ Harry told his old neighbour, ‘She always seems tired. She mentioned Voldemort the other day and seemed scared about it and for me, then just went back to hating me. I don’t understand it,’ Harry said shaking his head again and reaching out for another sip of his tea.

 ‘Well of course, what do you expect, silly boy,’ the old woman sipped at her tea and waved her hands in the air like he was daft. ‘Pregnant women rarely act normal.’

 Harry sat staring, unblinkingly, at his old neighbour, who continued to sip her tea peacefully and acted as though stranger things had occurred. Finally leaving his trance, Harry tried to say something but couldn’t find the words, so he continued to sit, his mouth working wordlessly as thoughts raced through his head.

 Pregnant? That wasn’t even possible! Surely she was too old. Besides, what did the Dursleys need another child for; Dudley made up about three. Oh no, if this child turned out anything like Dudley had been, this was going to be a nightmare!

 ‘Are you all right, Potter?’ Mrs. Figg’s voice interrupted his thoughts, breaking into the turning wheel of ideas in his brain.

 ‘Uhh, yeah, of course,’ Harry tried to say casually, but found that his voice squawked an octave higher than usual. Mrs. Figg stared at him unconvinced before dawning realization splayed across her old features and the corners of her lined mouth inched upward into a smile.

 ‘You didn’t know, Potter?’ Her tone suggested amusement, ‘Not that I should be surprised. Mind you, I thought that the Dursleys would have loved to rub it in your face,’ she continued to Harry’s chagrin, ‘All of Little Whinging have known for about seven months now, and I wouldn’t be surprised if your aunt and uncle have broadcast it to all of Surrey.’

 Mrs. Figg really enjoyed telling Harry all about this delightful bit of gossip that had died months ago for everyone else; she had moved closer to him and spoke animatedly from the edge of her black leather seat. Harry did not stop her, but listened quietly from where he sat disbelievingly to all she had to tell him.

 

*

 

 Half an hour later, Harry trudged back down Magnolia Crescent, his eyes not taking in anything around him as he made his way back to the Dursleys’. How could he not have noticed his aunt was pregnant? It had been weeks, and something as conspicuous as a pregnant woman – in his own house – had slipped his notice. How unbefitting a want-to-be Auror. What else might he have overlooked since his return to Privet Drive?

 He turned the corner and stared down the nearly deserted road before continuing home under the noon sun, burning brightly overhead. The man from number seven pruning the garden, reminded Harry of his chores. Turning into the Dursleys’ driveway, he walked up to the house, glancing around at the gardens to determine just how much work he would have the next morning.

 Truthfully, he didn’t mind doing the weeding because it gave him a chance to work outside where he was away from his aunt and uncle. He made a point to grumble and complain about it at every chance he got though, because if either of them ever found out that he felt anything less than abhorrence toward his chore, they would likely replace it with something worse. He saw that the weeds had begun to take over in the central garden but the two on either side of it were still in great condition. The grass was starting to get what Uncle Vernon would call unacceptably wild, so he would have to cut that tomorrow as well.

 Around back, Harry found a bar running across the center of Aunt Petunia’s iron flower trellis that would be perfect for doing chin-ups. He looked around to make sure that his aunt and uncle were nowhere within sight and reached up for the bar, lifting his legs and trying to pull his body up and down. He succeeded in doing only six chin-ups then set his feet back onto the ground and made his way inside. He was quite sweaty, a combination of running with Dudley and then being out under that summer sun. On his way upstairs he heard Dudley thumping down the corridor from the kitchen.

 ‘Hey,’ Dudley whispered to get his cousin’s attention, ‘When you’re done, come to my room. We have to plan for later,’ he said.

 Harry chose not to inquire about Maria just yet. The whole situation was odd and difficult to believe, so he felt he’d give Dudley the benefit of the doubt and leave it for now.

 ‘Yeah, sure,’ he answered from the stairs and headed to the toilet.

 Harry went straight into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Sitting on the counter was one of Dudley’s custom-made extra, extra large bath towels in brilliant blue. Harry stripped down to his pants and walked over to the large square mirror sitting above the pink porcelain sink.

 His reflection stared back at him, tired and clammy. His hair was ruffled worse than ever, bedraggled clumps of hair sticking up every which way. His chest remained flat, except for the very obvious ridges that were his ribs poking up under his milky white skin. Flexing, Harry stared disappointedly at his fifteen-year-old arms that still showed little muscle tone. Present on his right arm instead, was a long white scar reminiscent of his third encounter with the Dark Lord. He had successfully defeated a sixty-foot Basilisk, but not before suffering the pain of a foot long fang burying itself into his flesh and spreading it’s poison like wild fire through his veins. He sometimes wondered what sort of long-term effects that might hold for him, if any.

 He lifted a tuft of hair and gazed at the other legendary scar left by the Dark Lord. The lightning bolt sat serenely on his forehead, looking to all the world as though it had not been the cause of so many nightmares and searing hot wake up calls for the boy on which it resided. Letting his hair flop down, Harry looked momentarily into the emerald green he’d inherited from his mother before removing his glasses and starting the shower.

 As the hot water ran onto his sore neck and down his back, Harry thought about his day and about what the rest of his summer might hold. He wondered if and when Aunt Petunia would let him know he had another cousin on the way. Then he tried to picture what it would look like; probably a fat little blob named Fudley, or something equally repugnant. Harry chuckled at the thought of Petunia trying to carry a baby the size of a large beach ball in her bony arms.

 After a while of standing under the shower’s warmth and pondering his summer life, Harry headed back to his room to get changed. Just as he finished tying the drawstring on his bottoms, a loud clicking noise came from the window and Harry was surprised to see Hedwig outside, tapping the glass persistently with her beak.

 Harry had forgotten to open the window that morning in his haste to go running with Dudley. He guiltily wondered how long she had been sitting outside waiting for him to let her in.

She landed on his arm and nipped at his ear affectionately, showing him there were no hard feelings.

 ‘I’m sorry Hedwig, I can’t give you any owl treats because they’re locked away with my other school things.’ The snowy owl stopped nipping at her owner and extended a talon to reveal a brown bit of parchment.

 Excitement flowed through Harry’s body as he reached out to untie the letter; he had not received news from any of his friends since the end of the school year and was dying to hear just about anything from the wizarding world. Hedwig flapped her wings irritably at not receiving a treat after her long flight but quickly settled on a perch inside her open cage. Harry sat down on his bed and looked down at the scribbled name on the front of the letter, immediately recognizing Hermione’s precise scrawl.

  _Dear Harry,_

_How are you? I hope you’re sleeping well. I’m sorry it’s taken this long to write you._

_Dumbledore and Moody thought it best that we not exchange post in the event someone intercepts the owl. Not that I could tell you anything anyway - Ron and Ginny and I aren’t allowed in the Order meetings still. In fact, we aren’t even near them anymore. Please don’t be angry though, I told Dumbledore that we couldn’t leave you in the dark this time, so someone is going to come for you on August 1st. Make sure you’re all packed up and ready to go by five o’clock._

_I hope all is well and Ron and I will see you halfway into August. I can’t say why, but you’ll see, it’s very exciting! In the mean time, I’ll make sure that Ron and I don’t have any fun, and we’ll see you soon, Harry. Please don’t do anything foolish._

_With love, Hermione_

_P.S. O.W.L results arrive in a week! I’m so nervous!_

 Harry threw the letter down in annoyance and turned to lie down on his bed. Why were Ron and Hermione allowed somewhere together? More importantly, why without him? What did she mean they would see him halfway through August? Why should they be allowed a whole extra month together while he was left in exile? Was he going to be kept somewhere alone, for two whole weeks? Harry decided he would much rather stay with the Dursleys than be isolated at Grimmauld Place, where all the fresh reminders of Sirius awaited him. He couldn’t stomach that.

 Harry growled frustrated and shut his eyes to try and forget the contents of Hermione’s useless letter. There was absolutely no point in sending him a letter filled with riddles and taunts, and then tell him not to do anything foolish. Clearing his mind of the irritating letter, Harry began thinking of the World Cup two summers before, and the dazzling performance by Viktor Krum, who had executed a perfect Wronski Feint. He watched from behind closed lids as the Bulgarian and Irish teams whipped around the pitch on Firebolts, playing one of the fiercest matches Harry had ever seen.

 The scene changed abruptly and what once was an open-aired Quidditch pitch, became a large, round anti-chamber in the deep recesses of the Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix Lestrange shouted the words that killed her cousin for the thousandth time in Harry’s mind, and just as before, he was suddenly alone, staring at the stone dais that had just claimed his Godfather’s body. Something was different though. On the large grey slab of stone, a girl sat with her head down. Her dark, auburn hair flowed eerily in sync with the veil’s fluttering fabric, and Harry could hear a soft sobbing and see her shoulders quiver.

 ‘Ginny,’ he called to her, in no more than a whisper. ‘Are you alright? What are you doing here, you’re meant to be safe with the Order?’

 Harry walked toward her and reached out hesitantly to touch her shoulder. She lifted her head and Harry was shocked when it wasn’t Ginny’s chocolate brown eyes that stared back at him, but his own emerald green instead. Lily Evans’ sixteen-year-old face stared forlornly at him; her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. She blinked once and the tears fell.

 Suddenly, she grabbed Harry’s hand in her own. ‘Harry,’ she said in a low and terrified voice, nothing like what Harry had expected her to sound like. ‘You have to help me!’ The tears flowed freely down her cheeks and landed in her damp, knotted hair below. ‘He’s already got James and Sirius, don’t let him get me, Harry!’ She leaned forward toward Harry’s now crouched figure and leaned into him. Harry lifted his arms and wrapped them tightly around his mother to comfort her.

 ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to let Voldemort touch you!’ Harry told her, with such resolve that she lifted her head and stared at him.

 ‘Voldemort? What would he want with me?’ she asked quietly, confusion etched onto her features.

 Harry was just as confused; who would have attacked them if not Voldemort? ‘Who is it that’s trying to get you-’ he started, but was abruptly cut off by Lily’s shriek of terror as she was tugged away from him.

 He watched, unable to move forward as hard as he tried, as a clawed, hairy limb reached through the veil and grabbed the back of the screaming redhead’s robes. He saw a final flash of fear and desperation in Lily’s eyes as she screamed one last time, ‘You’re the only one!’ before disappearing through the veil and leaving the room deadly silent.

 ‘Harry,’ he heard his name called. He looked all around him, but the large chamber remained silent and empty. ‘Harry,’ the voice sounded again, slightly louder. Still no one walked through the entrance to the death room.

 ‘Harry!’ Dudley’s irritated voice reached his brain and his eyes flew open to stare up at his half annoyed and half concerned looking cousin.

 ‘What do you want?’ Harry demanded gruffly, leading to a punch him in the arm.

 ‘You were talking in your sleep again,’ his cousin told him, ‘I could hear you all the way from in my room.’ Dudley lowered his voice to a whisper before continuing, ‘You were calling out to a girl named Ginny and asking who was after her.’

 ‘Well, it’s not what you think,’ Harry lied to his cousin and tried to hide his embarrassment. ‘I was asking Ginny who had pulled a prank on her, that’s all. I’m sure you remember her older brothers, from back in my fourth year. They gave you a certain toffee…’ he trailed off watching the red rise in Dudley’s face, and the concern that had been shown completely vanished.

 ‘Oh, well,’ Dudley started to say, clearly trying to forget the incident with the Ton-tongue Toffee. ‘So you were dreaming about a girl then?’ he suddenly turned on Harry and lifted an eyebrow inquisitively.

 ‘Sod off!’ Harry said, trying to frown, but succeeding in a half grin instead.

 ‘Fine. Thought we could discuss the plan. Sort yourself out then,’ Dudley said, knowing full well that Harry wanted his school things badly.

 ‘Take a seat Dud,’ Harry pointed to his bed and watched as his cousin lumbered over to it, and heard it creak under his weight as he sat down. Harry quickly told him about his plan. The two spent the next hour talking about it, before Harry got suckered into telling Dudley all about the great game of Quidditch. They appeared to get on greatly as they laughed and talked, oblivious to the luminous green eyes that watched them from a branch just outside the window.

 

*

 Harry rolled onto his side in bed, and stared at the tiny alarm clock across the room: 12:34. It had been exactly one hour since he had heard Uncle Vernon shut off the television downstairs, lumber up the stairs behind his aunt, and open his bedroom door to ensure that Harry was asleep before heading to their own bedroom. Harry flung his blankets off and slowly got out of bed, strategically placing his feet on the silent floorboards. Moments later, he heard the sound of his doorknob turning over and Dudley’s creeping form waddled in as quietly as he could.

 ‘You ready?’ Dudley whispered, barely audibly.

 Harry nodded and poked his head around the corner to see that the coast was clear. He heard no strange sounds; just the regular and deafening snores emanating from his aunt and uncle’s room.

Creeping down the hallway, Harry watched as Dudley followed him, making sure to step where he had so not to creak. Dudley had never needed to sneak around the house and therefore had never taken the time to notice which stairs made noise and which did not. Stealthily making their way down the stairs, Harry and Dudley both held their breath for a brief moment when Vernon’s rhythmic snoring ceased. A loud cough filled the air and to Harry’s immense relief, the snoring started up again. They reached the hallway landing and snuck through the shadows of the kitchen before reaching the cupboard opposite the sitting room.

 Harry turned to Dudley, ‘Did you get it?’ He watched as Dudley fumbled in his pocket for a moment and then produced the small silver key to the lock on the cupboard.

 Grabbing it from Dudley’s hand, he slipped it into the lock and turned it slowly to the left. CLICK! Yes! The lock popped open and Harry removed the latch and swung the door open. Dudley stood guard at the bottom of the stairs as Harry quietly flipped the latches on his trunk and lifted the lid to a resting position. All of his textbooks and wizarding possessions lay in a tangled mess, just as Uncle Vernon had left them.

 He pulled out a couple bottles of ink, his Potions, Charms and Transfiguration texts, several rolls of parchment, and finally, one of his favourite magazines. This would have to do for now. He gently placed his things on the ground, resealed his trunk and then closed and locked the cupboard door, leaving no traces that he had ever been there. The job done, both boys crept back up the stairs and back to their respective bedrooms, Dudley flashing a thumbs-up before disappearing into his bedroom and closing the door.

 Harry looked at his clock. It had only taken them eight minutes to execute the perfected plan without a hitch. Now he could finish his summer assignments and even show Snape up by doing really well on his essay. Placing the ink and parchment on his desk, he turned around and slid the books under his bed, and the magazine under his pillow. From his crouched position next to his bed, he looked out the window and froze. Two bright green eyes just like his and his mother’s were staring right back at him. He stumbled back and blinked a few times to make sure that he was seeing correctly, but when he looked again, the eyes were gone. Was he starting to imagine things?

 He decided that writing Hermione and doing his assignments would just have to wait until the next morning after his run with Dudley and when he was done weeding the gardens. He did however decide to send away for his sixth-year books right away. He didn’t want to wait for those.

 On a short piece of parchment, Harry scribbled a note to Flourish and Blott’s, requesting all the sixth year texts they had, as well as any additional ones they thought might be useful in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. This was the best he could manage, as he had yet to receive his Hogwarts letter, containing this year’s required booklist.

He didn’t even know if he had passed all of his courses, but he did know from his brief encounter with Snape that he had somehow made it into the N.E.W.T’s Potions course. While the prospect of another year under Snape’s tutelage was less than inspiring, Harry couldn’t help feeling bolstered at the renewed chance to become an Auror. He told the shopkeeper to charge the cost to his Gringott’s vault and then tied it to Hedwig’s leg. She nipped at him cheerfully then soared out the window and toward Diagon Alley.

 Harry climbed back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. He closed his eyes and thought about the look on Snape’s face when he could no longer insult Harry’s Potion’s work, and hoped with all his might that he would not see his mother’s tormented face again in his dreams.


End file.
